


In The Veretian Style

by IAmANonnieMouse



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Fluff, M/M, POV Nikandros, POV Outsider, Post-Kings Rising, The Summer Palace, Wrestling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 05:15:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9220238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmANonnieMouse/pseuds/IAmANonnieMouse
Summary: “I want to learn wrestling.”Nikandros turned away from his view of the ocean from atop the balcony, a brief respite from the exhaustion of reconstructing two kingdoms and merging them into one. Damen’s ice-cold, calculating lover, the Prince of Vere, stood before him, dressed in his customary, over-complicated Veretian clothing. If Nikandros had to tie that many laces every morning as he dressed, he thought, he would most likely forgo the dressing completely.





	

**Author's Note:**

> It has been absolutely _ages_ since I wrote a Captive Prince fic, but I read The Summer Palace, and as I was trying to fall asleep, this fic started writing itself in my head. So I did what any good writer does and crawled out from under my warm blankets to write it down.
> 
> Un-beta'd, so any typos (I'm sure there's at least one hiding from me) and other mistakes are entirely mine.

“I want to learn wrestling.”

Nikandros turned away from his view of the ocean from atop the balcony, a brief respite from the exhaustion of reconstructing two kingdoms and merging them into one. Damen’s ice-cold, calculating lover, the Prince of Vere, stood before him, dressed in his customary, over-complicated Veretian clothing. If Nikandros had to tie that many laces every morning as he dressed, he thought, he would most likely forgo the dressing completely.

Laurent narrowed his eyes. “I want to learn wrestling,” he said again, an almost-unnoticeable Veretian lilt to the words. “I need a teacher.”

Nikandros studied him, taking in his narrow frame and fine-boned hands, recalling his dexterity in the okton. “I had not imagined it to be an interest of yours,” he said at length, thinking of the Prince stripping down and oiling himself. The image had the same air of impossibility as that of seeing a god, or of witnessing a dog walk on its hind legs. It would never happen.

Laurent tilted his head slightly. His hair, and the angle of the sun, cast his face into shadow.

“We will practice in the Veretian style and remain fully clothed.”

He raised his head again and met Nikandros’ eyes. Caught in his stare, Nikandros nodded slowly. “Very well,” he said, not quite sure what he was agreeing to.

~+~+~

“There is no way to outmaneuver that,” Nikandros said, releasing Laurent and sitting in the dirt beside him.

“Damen did,” the Prince said. “He twisted his arm like this”—he mimicked the movement in the air between them—“and shifted his weight and turned it back against his opponent.”

Nikandros looked at him. He had not realized the Prince had been watching so intently, that day. “Yes,” he said. “But Exalted uses techniques for more experienced men.” His eyes traveled again over Laurent’s small frame, so thin and lithe it seemed a strong enough gale could fell him.

Laurent looked away, briefly, reacting to the words Nikandros did not voice. He stood, brushing dirt from his clothes. “Again,” he said, offering a thin but strong and calloused hand to Nikandros.

Nikandros rose to his feet and showed him again.

~+~+~

He did not know what to think of the Prince. Ice-cold son of a bitch, the Prince’s Guard murmured. And it seemed to be true, for the most part. Laced tightly into his Veretian clothing, his eyes alone could make you stop in your tracks and turn away.

Except Damen was devoted to him, for more than his blond hair and serpentine mind. So Nikandros watched him, and wondered.

~+~+~

He met up with Damen and accompanied him to the summer palace. They discussed plans for the kingdom, ways to deal with rebels and supporters of Kastor, names of those who should be considered for positions. Inevitably, everything would return to Laurent, and Damen’s eyes would sparkle as he spoke his name.

He was not surprised when Damen rode ahead, rushing towards the parapets visible in the distance, and the blue-eyed Prince waiting for him.

~+~+~

“I hear you’ve been training Laurent,” Damen said to him that night at dinner.

The palace was buzzing with gossip about him, and the Prince. About Damen’s armor that had been left, discarded, in the east garden, and more.

“Yes.” Nikandros drained his cup.

“You are a good teacher,” Damen said.

On Damen’s other side, Laurent shifted, pulling his other leg towards his chest instead, letting the first stretch and extend towards the floor. Nikandros followed the movement, then looked at Damen again. Who was smirking.

“Have you gotten used to it?” he asked.

“To what?” But he knew what Damen was asking.

Nikandros hesitated, unsure of his answer. Laurent leaned in, his shoulder pressing against Damen’s easily, familiarly. Their dinner was a small affair, just the three of them and a few other officers, and Laurent had paused before accepting the wine that was offered to him. His cheeks were flushed now, slightly.

“I’ve saved all my best comments for you,” he informed Damen, wide-eyed and serious.

Damen smiled. He turned back to Nikandros. “Training in the morning?”

Nikandros looked back at the Prince’s rose-tinted cheeks. “If you are sure.”

Damen’s smile broadened. “Yes.”

~+~+~

Nikandros arrived early, interested to see how long it would take for them to arrive, except they were already there. He paused, unnoticed, and watched.

Laurent was rubbing his forehead, a crease between his eyebrows. “Why did I have so many?” he muttered, his accent thicker.

“You’re the one who wanted to build your tolerance.” Damen handed him a glass of water. Laurent glared balefully at it before drinking. 

Damen playfully ran a hand through his hair, leaving it slightly mussed. Laurent did not stop him. He handed the empty glass back to Damen and paced around the arena. “When will Nikandros arrive?”

“Soon,” Damen said. “But we can start now.”

Laurent turned to stare at him. “We are still practicing in the Veretian style.”

Damen laughed. “It is nothing I haven’t seen before,” he said warmly.

Laurent flushed and looked away. “No,” he said.

Damen laughed again and stepped closer. “You are fortunate I am not you.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Considering, wary.

Damen smirked. “Because I did not douse you with a bucket of cold water this morning.”

Laurent stopped and stared at him. Then, slowly, his mouth curled and he laughed, soft, warm, easy. Damen laughed with him, and they stood, lost in each other.

Nikandros chose that moment to step into the room. “Hello,” he said. “You survived the night after all.”

Laurent looked at Damen again, and Nikandros understood Damen then. 

“We survived,” Laurent said, mouth still curled. His fingers tangled loosely with Damen’s, and Nikandros watched and wondered and hoped.

**Author's Note:**

> I am on [Tumblr](http://iamanonniemouse.tumblr.com/) as well! Feel free to leave a comment below or drop by on Tumblr to scream with me about Captive Prince and Lamen and C.S. Pacat!


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